Thunder Only Happens When It Rains
by ctrl-issue
Summary: SLASH. ModoXVinnie. One shot, taking the place of what was going to be an epic. Not all battles can be won by physical force, and sometimes not all wars are won by fighting. It's time to stop hiding.


_Author: Summer Starr_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Biker Mice From Mars. I'm not certain who does anymore, but I know that it's not me. If it -was- me, they'd be eating something other than Hotdogs. _

_Warnings: There be SLASH here! And ANGST!_

_Pairings: Modo/Vinnie, Throttle/Charley_

_Rating: Strong PG-13 for a few choice words_

_Archiving: If you really want it, let me know._

_Author's Notes: I had originally intended to write an epic, where the main stars of the story were Throttle and Charley. But, I've been writing yaoi and slash for far longer than I'd been writing het, and the het muse that inspired the story abandoned it, and me, a while back. But, since I couldn't stand the idea of not finishing this, I went ahead and reworked it. Only, I'm staring the slash pairing instead. Plus, I was focusing far too much on the OC bad-girl. I don't care for Mary-Sues, and that's what she was. As for the title, I'm keeping it as it was. I like the old song, and I feel that some of the lyrics were especially apt, such as "Thunder only happens when its rainin' / Players only love you when they're playin'." At least, they were apt for the old story arc, which was the OC-villianess was playing Limburger to get what she wanted. I'm also apologizing to all those that read what I had written of the first one, and now won't read this one._

**Thunder Only Happens When It Rains**

On the news, there was a severe weather warning being broadcasted. It was highly recommended that people stay inside for the night, as the rain was making the roads nearly impossible to drive on, especially with all the construction that had been going on during the previous weeks remaining incomplete. There had already been a number of accidents, and the interstate was host to a ten-car pile up.

But Vinnie didn't have to worry about that.

He was in a darkened corner of the Scoreboard, where even if the lights had been on, they wouldn't have reached him. The radio was on, but the sounds barely reached him. He just needed something to fill the void. He didn't like silence. Silence allowed for too many memories to come back, memories he would rather forget.

He sat on an old chair, busted then repaired, staring at an object set a few feet in front of him. There was a stray beam of light sneaking in from somewhere, where Vinnie didn't know and didn't care, and it set off a dull glow from the smooth, polished surface of his metal mask.

He had been sent to a Plutarkian prison years ago, and had received a fair number of scars for it on his soul, but the battle for Mars left its biggest scar on his face. Half of his face was gone. Gone! So... mangled and hideous that he was left with no other option but to hide it away, behind a silver mask.

Because just looking in a mirror left him weak with nausea and revulsion.

However... However the fight wasn't over. It was never over. He and his bros had come to Earth and found a new war to fight, a new enemy to rage against, and a new friend with whom to party. But...

"Best laid plans of mice and men," Vinnie whispered to himself.

It had taken ten years, ten years since their arrival, but Limburger had found a new ally. A really, really cruel and clever ally. One who had managed to... to hurt them. One who was able to find their weaknesses, as if they wore them like tattoos or badges on their helmets.

Throttle was left blind, utterly and completely, much like one time before. Only this time, there was no chance for new eyes to help him through. No chance.

No chance at all.

And Charley... They had found her on the floor of her garage before that battle, naked and alone, her entire place robbed of everything right down to the motor oil. She had neither food nor clothes. He remembered how they had found her after the attack, so vulnerable. He had been left to guard her as Modo and Throttle raced off to do who-knew-what. He had held her in his arms, with his bike between him and the door, his blaster drawn and aimed at anything that moved. And in his mind, he knew that he had to keep the human woman safe, even if it -did- cost him his bike. Because Charley was good at fixing bikes. His bike wasn't so good at fixing Charleys.

She had been the bait, and they had fallen for it. Gobbled it up, like so many starved prey.

They had stormed Limburger Tower, the new and improved version. They had fought, fought like crazy, the new and improved guards. And ultimately... they were still losing that battle.

For Charley, the fight was over, and she was left picking up the pieces. It almost would have been better if her place had burned to the ground, as her insurance wasn't able to cover her as well as she had hoped. Being the only mechanic, and female, in a bad neighborhood, where a person was as likely to get robbed as greeted had its drawbacks. So, she was left with nothing. Nothing except them and an empty garage.

Being the person she was, she was determined to still help them. However she could. Whatever it took. And part of that was making sure Throttle stayed at her place with her. Even blind, Throttle was still able to be there with her, chasing away her fears. And if, in the process, she gave him purpose again, then so be it. Of course, that left Vinnie with no chance to win Charley.

No chance at all.

Even if he had been able to continue to chase her. Which he wasn't.

In the battle that left Throttle blind, he had been captured. Reintroduced to pain and torture. Reminded how fragile his body was, how weak he could be. Reduced to... to barely worth saving.

Modo had been the one to pull him out of there. Charley had backed him up with a plan they had all three devised. But Modo had been the one to save him that time. Picked him up, as if he was some child, and rode out of Limburger Tower.

But Vinnie's torture hadn't ended, though. The object of his torture remained with him; his weak link had been his mask. His lovely, hand-carved mask. His mask that hid his ugliness. His mask that hid his scars. His mask that hid more than half his face, it hid half of who he was. Harley had made the mask especially for him, to help him. He had taken it and been grateful.

She had hoped that he would heal. And he had. For a time.

Sometimes, when he crawled into bed, he wondered where Harley was now, and if she was doing all right. He and his bros had searched for her for a long time, but eventually... Well, time moves on even if a person isn't ready for it to. He hoped she was.

He hadn't heard anything about her for a long, long time, but... there was still hope. Hope that she was healthy and unhurt. Hope that she was on Mars, fighting and tending to others. Hope that she remembered him.

Hope that she had moved on and found someone she could love who was close at hand. Someone who was whole. Someone who was complete. Or, at least someone who made her complete.

He couldn't wear the mask anymore. Just getting close to it made the white-furred Martian cry out in physical pain. At the same time, he couldn't live without it. He couldn't face himself, much less the rest of this alien world, without it. He couldn't face anyone, really, with only half a face. Except Throttle.

But... he was too ashamed to see him.

So, Vinnie—the self-proclaimed 'baddest mamma jamma in the known universe'—hid himself away. Hid so that no one could find him. Or at least, he tried to. Because whenever he fell asleep, he always dreamed, though they weren't really dreams as much as nightmares. Nightmares of being left alone. Nightmares of being left behind. Nightmares of steel and pain and cold and humiliation. Nightmares that left him more terrified of sleep than of the waking world, where at least he could hide. Because there was no hiding in his dreams.

There was never any hiding in his dreams.

Sometimes, though, Modo would find him. Sometimes Modo would save him from his dreams, as if he was some child in need of protection from monsters under the bed that were really just in his head. But the monsters in his head were real. Real enemies. Real memories. Real tortures.

They. Were. Real.

If one forgot that Modo had only one eye, if one forgot he had only one real arm, one could almost imagine that he was the better off of the three of them. He was still able to fight, if nothing else. But what they often times forgot was that, back on Mars, Modo had a family. He had a wife, and kids, and a momma who loved him. He had been without his family for a decade.

He had never complained. He had never sat and brooded about it. He had never said anything about it.

But a fact was still a fact, and Vinnie knew that Modo loved his family. He carried their pictures with him, in his breastplate. The white-furred mouse had paid enough attention to know that it wasn't like the taller male would have been able to -fit- a wallet in his jeans. It was probably part of the reason he was able to take such good care of Vinnie. Modo knew how to take care of others, whereas Vinnie really just knew how to take care of himself.

Though, Vinnie wasn't so sure of that idea anymore.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating most of the interior of the Scoreboard. Vinnie swallowed as the deep rumbling thunder echoed around him, his eyes locked on the empty eye socket of his mask, which looked towards him.

He shouldn't be afraid of it. There really was no reason for it.

But when did reason have anything to do with fear? Or fear with reason?

There came the sound of a heavy door clanging open, and for a moment Vinnie was uncertain as to whom it was. But then he recognized the slight jangling of chains, and the familiar tread of Modo's footsteps. He continued to hide in his little corner, away from the gray-furred mouse, but from his vantage point, he was able to see the tall Martian enter the main living area. He didn't even twitch as Modo moved to the kitchen area, setting food in their small refrigerator.

"I went by Charley's," Modo called out over the soft sounds of rain hitting the metal walls and the low buzz of an almost lost radio station. He wasn't sure if Vinnie was within earshot or not, but he was still hopeful. He didn't want to lose both of his friends.

He hated it, but since Throttle moved in with Charley, it felt as if he'd lost the tan-furred mouse, though if he lost Throttle to the love of a good woman, he wouldn't begrudge him that. They weren't that far away, after all, it was just... Throttle leaving left a hole in a well-loved routine. "Charley-girl's gotten some friends to help her out, offering some used tools and some money. It ain't much, but it's a start. And she's hopeful. If nothin' else, the girl's got her dreams."

This last time was proof that she could take care of herself, but it was also a sign that she was as vulnerable as they were. But she didn't need to be. She was so innocent, so not a part of their war, even if the battleground was Earth.

Though, if he could be honest, and honest with only himself, he had another reason that he didn't like her being in their skirmishes, no matter how many times she'd bailed them out. He didn't like the idea of her being in the line of fire, her being in the fray.

Her being in the way.

Though, Modo would be the -last- mouse to say that to her face. He liked his skin well enough where it was, thank you very much, and there was nothing scarier than an angry female with tools.

Modo brushed his mechanical arm, where it met with his shoulder. Well, maybe some things. Sometimes he still felt a dull itch, as if his real arm was still there. But fortunately, he never felt any pain from its severance. Nor did he feel any pain in his missing eye. There were other things that had been damaged over time and space that no longer hurt as much as they once did. That didn't stop the memories from coming back, though. It didn't stop the nightmares or stop him from wishing... wanting.

Wanting things he barely remembered.

They made sure that she knew how appreciated she was. At least he hoped they did. Because they did appreciate her. She was one of them. Even if she didn't have fur. Or a tail. She was a wizard when it came to machines, though. And even without the fur and the tail, she was very easy on the eyes. Very easy on the eyes. Vincent had been a bit more vocal about it, but none of them were about to deny it. It might have been because Charley was a woman, but it might also have been because she was the only woman they were around on a day-to-day basis.

That didn't give his nephew an excuse though, and Rimfire thought she was as lovely as they did, which just made Modo feel old.

She cared about them, even when she was angry with them. She took amazingly good care of their bikes. And Modo knew from past experience that the girl had curves meant for holding on to. And she smelled good. And she was soft. Soft in ways many Martian ladies weren't.

Thinking about their human friend always made Modo think of home, especially the women back home. Modo knew that Charley had more opportunities to bathe than did the ladies back home. They spent more time in the trenches, more hours working, and had become as battle scarred and jaded as any male could hope to be. His momma had explained it to him when he was younger, saying that very few Martian ladies allowed themselves any kind of softness, too afraid that it might be used as a weakness. It was sad that they saw that softness, that comfort as a weakness, because to Modo it wasn't.

It took a big person to offer comfort to others.

"Throttle is doing well." There was no answer, but Modo hadn't expected there to be one. He continued effortlessly, slowly becoming accustomed to one-sided conversations, "He says to say 'hello.' And that if you don't come and see them, he's going to come over here and kick your sorry Martian ass."

Grabbing a root beer, Modo walked back into the living room area and sat down on one of the larger, softer chairs. He didn't turn the television on, though. He just sat in the darkness, hoping for some kind of signal that he wasn't alone. That Vinnie was still there. "I think he's afraid of you. Or rather, afraid that you hate him. Ya know, for stealin' Charley-girl away from you."

"I'm not upset," Vinnie replied quietly, his voice traveling through the air as easily as Modo's deeper, fuller one had. But Vinnie's voice was just an extra shadow in the gloom of the Bill Board's interior, too ethereal to trace. Vinnie wasn't upset. Not really. What could he offer Charley? What could he offer anyone?

Nothing. Nothing but nightmares.

He admired Throttle, not that he'd ever tell anyone that, but it was true all the same. However, sometimes, he had seriously questioned Throttle's sanity. Carbine was a -good- woman, even if she was a gazillion miles away. Strong. Independent. A great shot. And extremely loyal.

To Mars.

Modo had told him that when they had first called Mars, after the attack, and told Carbine what was up, that Vinnie had been captured and that Throttle was left blind, she had sighed and shook her head. Everyone back on Mars knew that the three bikers were in danger there on Earth, alone, fighting the Plutarkians with only their brains, their brawn, their bikes, and Charley. Everyone knew it. And while none of them liked it, they had grudgingly accepted it.

So, it was with mixed feelings that Carbine told Throttle, "I'll send someone to Earth to fetch you and Modo, and to get Vinnie free."

"What about defending Earth?" Modo had asked, Throttle sitting in front of the display screen, totally silent.

"We'll see what we can do." And then the transmission ended.

"Did you hear that?" Throttle asked, after a moment of dead air. "Did you hear what she said?"

"Throttle?" Charley had asked, worried for her friends more than herself.

"She's going to send someone to -fetch- us. Like we're... like we're... You send dogs to fetch Frisbees. You do not 'fetch' people!" The rage that Throttle had spoken with shocked Modo and Charley, but the blind mouse was unaware of their reaction. "I am not a -toy- to be gathered up."

In a fit of anger, Throttle had slammed his fists into the next available target he could find, which just happened to be a piece of electronic equipment that Modo had no idea what it was for. Sparks flew everywhere, and there had been the smell of burnt fur and flesh in the air, something Modo remembered all too well.

Charley managed to calm Throttle down, though, and bandage his hands. Modo... Modo had retreated back to their bikes, trying to ignore the sound of Throttle crying on Charley's shoulder. Modo had told him about that, trying to warn him about what was going on.

Warn him about the world falling apart around them.

The 'rescue' never arrived. Which was just as well, as there was no rescuing Throttle's and Carbine's relationship. The white-furred mouse had known, just like every one else did, that the Lovely Red Lady would -always- come first and foremost to the General. How Throttle could have tolerated that for as long as he had was beyond Vincent. For him, to be in love with someone... it was supposed to be -consuming-. Fire and passion and no holds barred. All or nothing. Reckless. Untamed.

And as far as Vinnie was concerned, Carbine and Throttle had never had that.

But Charley... Throttle could have that with Charley. Vinnie had tried, but there was always a part of him that he couldn't give her. Just a small piece that he had always held back. A piece he hid.

"You gonna tell him that?" Modo asked, his voice equally as quiet.

The only response the gray-furred mouse received was the thunder from the storm outside.

**-00-**

Modo woke completely with the almost inaudible sound disturbing the otherwise eerie quiet of the Scoreboard. As fast and as quiet as a shooting star, he was up and out of bed. He was dressed in only his pants; even his breastplate was off. The rain continued outside, and it camouflaged the sounds of the pads of his bare feet striking the cold cement flooring.

Some people found it hard to believe that someone of his size could move so quietly, so invisibly, when he wanted to. He had been a resistance fighter for far too long to not know the virtues of stealth. Just because he preferred a frontal assault didn't mean he always gave into the impulse to use that maneuver. Even his hero, James Bond, didn't do that, and he was usually much more prepared than Modo ever was. As he moved through the wide-open area that made up the interior of the Scoreboard, he hung to the wall, and was thankful that he never went anywhere un-armed, as it were. Swiftly, he moved up the stairs.

His ears twitched as he searched for the source of the strange, muffled sound.

He wished the source had been a burglar. He wished he could have ended in a fight. He wished...

He wished a thousand different things in the time it took his heart to break.

Because curled up, in an old beaten up chair, Vinnie slept fitfully. His silver mask was a few feet in front of him, almost watching the smaller male in his troubled dreams. He looked so vulnerable.

Almost as vulnerable as Charley did, when they had found her. When they had first gotten there, what they witnessed startled them into momentary silence. Charley was on the floor... in nothing but her underwear. And other than her, and a few grease and oil stains, the entire garage was completely bare. There were no parts, no pieces, no... nothing. Her apartment had been raided too, removing everything including her toothbrush.

Throttle had taken charge, like he always did. Ordered him to prepare a place for their ally. And he'd ordered Vinnie to guard her. And then he had taken off to find Charley-girl some clothes. Because it was one thing when she deliberately wore next to nothing, but it was another thing entirely when someone else stripped her.

Modo hadn't been able to bring himself to ask the question that he knew the other two wanted to know. It turned his stomach just thinking about what might have happened to their human friend. He knew... things like that happened, not only on Mars, but here as well. Not only to females, but to everyone and anyone. And it sickened him.

She had been unresponsive when they had arrived. Not knocked cold, more like in a strange coma. But she got better thanks to the antidote they had stolen from Limburger. But the price of that theft... Charley still couldn't remember what they did to her, just that one minute she was fine, and the next, she was waking up in the Scoreboard with Throttle screaming in pain somewhere close beside her, and Modo trying to restrain him.

And Vinnie... Vinnie had been gone, captured.

Shaking his head, Modo sighed. He was getting too old for this.

Too old and too tired.

With the adrenaline high quickly leaving him, the gray-furred mouse was feeling several weeks' worth of fatigue setting into his very bones. Impatiently, Modo scratched the back of his head. Limburger had found one very impressive ally, one that had reduced the hard driving, hard pounding, hard talking trio to two impotent warriors and one over grown nanny. Whenever Charley wasn't within earshot, Throttle was either in a deep depression or worried that something had happened to her. And Vinnie...

Vinnie was dying. Dying slowly in front of him. Not from any physical wounds, but he was dying anyway. His bike had yet to be touched, much less ridden. He didn't listen to music. He didn't sing. He never laughed anymore. Hell, he hardly ever spoke.

He was hiding.

All. The. Time.

And, when he wasn't hiding, when Modo managed by some miracle to find him, he was crying. Dreaming. Shivering. Wounded.

Modo wished he could say that it was the scars left on Vinnie's soul that were the cause of his friend's... troubles, but they weren't. Because they weren't scars. Scars were a sign of healing. These were open, jagged, infected wounds.

Maybe their last call made it back to Mars, though. Maybe there were reinforcements on their way. Maybe he could return home with Vinnie, if not with Throttle, and find out what had become of their home. Maybe he'd be able to see... Maybe his family would be there. Waiting for him.

And maybe the world would be a better place in the morning.

With a ghost of a sigh, Modo released his wistful ponderings. There really was no point to them. He needed to -do- something. Something constructive. Something like making sure that Vinnie at least got a decent night sleep. He needed it. They all needed it. A moment of peace. Just a moment of peace, so that they could breathe again.

Not that he really needed it. Unlike his bros, this time he had come out relatively unscathed. But then, after all that had already been done to him, that wasn't saying much. Sometimes he wondered how much of him was still alive, with as much of him made of steel as he was. He was more of a machine now, than mouse.

He was very much aware of his condition. One arm was completely synthetic. One eye was completely missing. If he would have stayed any longer in that Plutarkian prison, he wasn't sure how much of him would have been left to even attempt escape. But he had escaped, with the help of his bros. His voice was as soft as rainfall as he murmured, "We're there for each other. We're bros. It's what we do."

He was tired, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do whatever needed to be done.

Modo braced himself, not because seeing the damage done to Vinnie's face was truly as horrible as the younger mouse thought, but because he wasn't sure if Vinnie would attack him unknowingly. Carefully, Modo bent down to pick up the white-furred mouse, one hand going behind Vinnie's head while the other arm went to support his knees. Instead of attacking him, Vinnie wrapped his arms around Modo's neck, even as his tail went to drape loosely around Modo's thigh. The tall Martian relaxed as he padded back downstairs, carrying Vinnie's dead weight effortlessly, to where the bedrooms—and hence beds—were located.

Modo murmured softly, inconsequential things, as he rubbed the side of his short muzzle against the top of Vinnie's head, his nose occasionally brushing past delicate antennae. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

He tried to put the younger mouse in his own bed, but Vinnie merely tightened his hold. Sighing softly, unintentionally puffing warm air onto sensitive antennae, Modo merely carried him over to his bed. He was too tired to fight Vinnie's vise-like grip on him, and he just didn't care enough to try.

He sat down on his bed, with Vinnie in his lap, and removed a well-loved bandolier and well-worn chest piece. He then lay back down, bringing the pale-furred mouse on top of him. Vinnie helped by moving so that his nose was pressed right against the gray fur of Modo's neck, and he was straddling Modo's waist. Using his tail, Modo flipped the covers over them both.

Modo was unconscious before he even registered being comfortable.

**-00-**

No pain. No fear. No dreams. Just... Warmth.

Calm.

A blanket of peace surrounded him. It was so good, just laying there, soaking in the sensation. He knew it was morning. But he didn't want to get up. He just wanted to lie there, indulging.

He knew... He knew that this presence was actually -in- his mind. He knew. He wasn't too sure of his name at that moment, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he even moved, if anything changed, the world would fall on him. Hard.

He didn't want that. He desperately didn't want that.

He had felt something similar to it, a long, long time ago. When he was young. Very young. When he was with his parents still. This wasn't them, but it was still nice. Soothing. Comforting. Nice.

The warmth beside him, the slumbering Mars Dragon that was projecting calm and peace and contentment into him, began to stir, and it was all he could do to hold on to it. He dug his mental nails into gray wings and refused to let go. Refused.

Because once gone, he knew that that... presence wasn't likely to come back.

Especially if he woke up.

The dragon fought him, but the fight did not last. It, too, was wounded. Sore. Hurt.

He didn't want to hurt it. He didn't want to hurt himself. But... he didn't want it to go. He couldn't let it go.

Like a child running after the last beams of sunlight, trying to cling to the day for just a few more moments, terrified of the night, he held on.

He wouldn't let go. He would never let go.

Never.

He fought to keep hold, fought off the world, but in the end...

In the end, he won.

Vinnie's eyes snapped open at the pained cry from under him. What had he done? What had he done this time? Slowly, he rose up, unsure of where he was and what was going on.

But when he had risen high enough to see Modo's eye, to see the betrayal and the pain there in, he felt confusion and dread. Quickly, he turned the bare part of his face, the part of his face that was missing, away from the other Martian, so that Vinnie was only using one eye to look at the gray-furred male. "Modo...?"

"I haven't seen her in over ten years," Modo replied quietly, talking about his wife and replying to unspoken thoughts. "I haven't... I haven't felt a Bond for... a long time. Until now."

There was an old tradition among the Martian people. One that dated... a long way back. It was part of history, and Vinnie never was good at that, but it was a tradition, so he had dutifully learned about it. About how two mice could mentally bond with one another. The mechanics had always been lost to him, too metaphysical for his tastes.

One of the reasons he wasn't so good with telepathy was because he had never acquired the... knack for it, like Throttle had. They all had the ability. But he didn't have the skill. Why bother trying to train for something you would probably never use, when you could be spending your time doing other things? Like learning to shoot well. Or ride faster.

He had never learned to ride as fast as his current thoughts, though. What had he done? Just because he lacked the skill didn't mean he lacked the ability. What had he done? He'd won. What had he done?

What had he done?

"Oh, cheese," Vinnie whispered, trying to scramble back, to get away, to hide again. What had he done? He hadn't even been -awake! He'd... just... reacted. He had just reacted. If someone asked him to tell them exactly what happened, to specify his actions, he knew he wouldn't be able to do that. He wouldn't. Because he didn't know. He just knew that he had felt that calming presence in his mind, and he latched onto it.

A sad sort of calm washed over him, stealing his panic, and he knew-knew- that it was Modo he was feeling. A strong hand pulled him back up against a hard chest, and he couldn't help but wonder...

"There ain't no breakin 'em. They can die, but it takes time. And distance," Modo answered again, as soft and as careful as before. "And it hurts."

Saying '_I'm sorry_' wasn't going to cut it, and Vinnie knew it. Two words weren't going to erase what he had done. Two words weren't going to... fix things. He'd fucked up. Plain and simple. To his understanding, he had unwittingly -raped- Modo's mind. He hadn't meant to, but... he had done it none-the-less. He could almost taste some of Modo's regret, and his ire, like jalapenos at the back of his throat.

The taller Martian may have appeared calm, but inside... He was upset. Up. Set. He... He had wanted to help. He had offered Vinnie a small bit of peace, just enough to keep the nightmares away. And in thanks? He knew the kid had no idea what a bond like this meant. None. Throttle might, but Vinnie? Not a clue. There was more to it than just forming a 'mental bond', as some might describe it. There was... Nature had a funny sense of humor. Not funny "ha-ha", but more like funny "oh, shit". Bonds like these were meant to occur between two people who were going to... Who were more than just mentally or emotionally intimate. It would take over all of who they were, devour them and spit out a new entity with two bodies. Modo tried to keep his thoughts from straying, tried to keep his mind separate, tried to keep the warning bells from echoing in Vinnie's head.

But he knew that the younger mouse was able to sense some of his apprehension.

"Modo?" Vinnie asked. Where had all of his bravado gone? "What... What can I do?"

"I... I need to talk with Throttle." Modo sighed, closing his single eye. "And so do you."

**-00-**

Vinnie listened from where he sat, as the low roar of Modo's bike, Lil' Darlin', lessened. Modo was off to Charley's. Alone.

As in, without him.

Because he wasn't sure he could handle it. He wasn't sure what was going on. He wasn't sure of anything.

Except that Modo was disappointed.

With the larger male gone, the Scoreboard felt a hundred times emptier than it ever had before. Looking around from his seat within the shadows, Vinnie could not see any way to ease the harsh ache within him. He automatically pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his chin upon his knees. His long, white, prehensile tail wrapped around him, pulling his feet even closer to him. It wasn't until he began to almost keen that he realized exactly how disturbed he really was. Pushing to his feet, he marched down, towards the main area of the Scoreboard. He was a mouse of action. He shouldn't be hiding. He needed to figure out what to do. He needed to figure out what he needed to do.

But with each passing moment, Vinnie found his skin a bit more pricklish, as if his fur was going the wrong way. His skin felt strange, as if it wanted to crawl off his body at the same time it was two sizes too small for him. With each passing minute he became more and more agitated, more and more upset.

Until it was all he could do just to lie down.

In Modo's bed.

As soon as he was able to bury his head in Modo's pillow, his muscles began to ease. It was as if he could -feel- the larger mouse right there with him. With a flick of his tail, he brought up the blankets and seemed to surround himself with the Modo's scent. He grew warm under the covers, but it wasn't the same kind of warmth of sharing the bed with the other mouse. It did, however, help him to relax.

Unfortunately, it did not help him to think of what to do next.

How was he going to make things right? He didn't like this. Didn't like feeling helpless. Didn't like feeling useless. Didn't like feeling weak.

But that was what he was. Weak. Useless. Helpless.

Part of him wanted to put the mask back on. He wanted to be who he was before, let everything go back to the way it had been. But. But there wasn't any going back.

Not this time.

Not any time.

Vinnie turned on his side, scarred side on the soft cloth. Curling up, he tried to think of what to do next, what to do period.

**-00-**

Modo leaned against Charley's dresser, his arms and ankles crossed. The tip of his tail was draped across the top of his boots. His helmet was downstairs with his bike. He didn't like the fact that Vinnie had refused to come, but he wasn't going to force the issue. He'd let the younger mouse take his time.

No matter how much Vinnie's continued reluctance made him want to strangle the scarred fighter.

"Well," Throttle finally whispered. He was in a pair of sweat pants, with a hole cut out in the back for his tail, sitting cross legged on Charley's bed. He still wore his field specs, not because he hoped to be able to see again, but because wearing them offered him a bit of comfort. "Vincent always has been one to find trouble. And if he can't find his own, he'll borrow it."

"I can't lay the blame with him," Modo sighed.

"I know," replied the tan mouse. "I have to ask, bro... Is this... Okay with you?"

"He wouldn't have been my first choice," Modo grumbled. But they both knew that, even though he hadn't had any interests in the white mouse before, he was a mouse who knew how to make the best of a situation. "But... I accept him."

"Not just out of pity or obligation, I hope," Throttle warned. "Bonding takes a bit more than gritted teeth."

"I know that," retorted the gray-furred mouse. "He's not my first bond. I -did- have a wife, if you remember."

"I remember." Empty hands were held, palm out, in a gesture of placating and surrender. "I'm just saying... Does he know?"

"Honestly, I don't think he has a clue, and I don't know how to bring the subject up." The tall mouse sighed. "It's... complicated."

"I know, bro," Throttle replied softly. They remained quiet for a few more moments, trying to figure out exactly what was in store for them next when, in the distance, they heard a familiar sound.

It seemed that Vinnie was willing to face the world.

Charley was working on an old Chevy truck, and by old, she meant that it was built before she had met the guys. She knew that Throttle was still upstairs, as was Modo. She didn't know what they were talking about up there, but it was serious. Very serious. Fortunately, the rain had stopped at some point in the early morning hours, so she didn't have to worry about mud, or them taking too many chances. Plus, without the white noise of the rain hitting her roof or her garage door, she was able to hear if anyone drove up.

She peeked out from under the hood as she heard SweetHeart's engine. It had been a while since she had seen Vinnie. Of course she had been worried about him, but... with everything else going on lately, she hadn't found the time to go over to the scoreboard to talk with him.

It seemed that he finally came to his senses, though, and came to talk to Throttle.

She stood up and moved around the truck, wiping her hands as she moved. "Hey, there, hot-stuff. Long time no see!"

"Hey, Charley-girl," Vinnie replied, and even though he did not remove his helmet, the exhaustion in his voice was evident.

"What's wrong, Vinnie?" Charley did not bother to hide the concern in her voice. The muscular male sighed and shook his head. Before he could answer her, she burst in with, "You aren't jealous, are you, that me and Throttle...?"

Truthfully, it was a concern that had plagued her for a while now. She didn't want to come between the guys, but at the same time, having Throttle there was... nice. It was a help to both of them.

"Charley-girl," Vinnie said as he pulled her close for a tight hug. Strange, that with his helmet on, he had no fear of facing Charley, who was one of the people of whom he was the most terrified. But then, his helmet was just another mask, wasn't it. "I'd never be mad about that. Maybe you can get him to relax a bit. He's always been a bit of a stick in the mud."

One dark eyebrow rose at that. If she had been the one to describe Throttle, a stick in the mud would not have been in any of the descriptive terms. None of the mice she had met could fit that description.

Tightening his hug momentarily, he braced himself for what he was about to say. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to have to face everyone. Didn't want to have to face Modo and Throttle. "I need to speak with-"

"Throttle's upstairs," Modo said, interrupting the duo. He climbed down the stairs and tried not to feel a pang of jealousy at the sight of Charley and Vinnie holding each other. The Bond was still new, and it was within his right to question them. But he knew, no matter how new, the Bond itself was permanent.

Vinnie nodded and moved to climb up the ladder. Both Modo and Charley watched, until the tip of his tail was all that remained of him. Then, with a flick, it too was gone.

Charley shook her head and tossed the rag she was still holding into a near-by basket. "C'mon, Modo, let me make ya something to eat. And then you can tell me all about what's going on."

"Thank you, Charley-ma'am," Modo grinned, feeling his chest tighten. He wanted to be up there. But, as much as he wanted that, he knew Vinnie needed to understand exactly what was going on and needed to hear it from someone who wasn't him.

Because there were some things that were just easier hearing from others.

Vinnie gulped as he walked to Charley's room. Charley's and Throttle's room. He felt... so much larger somehow. As if one wrong move in any direction would leave him crashing into something. Or crashing through. He pushed open the already cracked door and walked into the bedroom.

Throttle was sitting by the window, out of sight of whoever might try to look in, but still sitting with the sun's rays on him. He turned in the direction of the door, his head tilted to the side. His nose flared for a minute as he sniffed the air, but most of what he smelled was more familiar scents than anything.

Vinnie opened his mouth to speak, to say hello, but for a moment he was struck speechless. No words. Not a single damn word would come out of his mouth. He... he wasn't ready.

Wasn't ready?

Wasn't he born ready? Bracing himself, shoving his fear to the back of his throat and forcing it back to the hidden darkness where he needed it to be, he managed to great his friend. "Hey, Throttle."

"Hello, Vincent." Throttle nodded. He tilted his head to the side and grinned. "Finally decided to come out of hiding, huh?"

"We were outta food," Vinnie tried to joke, but the effort fell flat, and the white mouse couldn't hold his smile.

"Why are you wearing your helmet?"

"Huh?" the still standing Martian asked, stunned. "How did you...?"

"I'm blind, Vinnie, not deaf. I can hear the difference in your voice. I know what you sound like with your helmet on and off, and what it sounds like filtered through my helmet as well." Throttle grinned, "So, why are you wearing your helmet?"

"I...," Vinnie began. Could he tell Throttle? Would the tan mouse understand? Did -he- even understand. "I can't wear my mask anymore. And... I didn't want to come here without some kind of..."

"Covering," the former rebel whispered.

When Vinnie didn't reply, Throttle shook his head. "Vincent... there are... times when you won't be able to hide."

The white mouse sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I know. Trust me, I know."

There was another pause, and then, with shaking hands, Vinnie removed the helmet. He set it on the dresser and then turned to regard the blind mouse sitting in the sunlight. "So, how have you been?"

Throttle couldn't stop the low chuckle that held many things, but did not hold amusement. "Well, all things considered, I'm doing good. I keep busy, usually. I can't read, but Charley-girl goes to the library sometimes and gets some books on tape, so I can at least listen to stories. Not that many of them are all that good. I help her out when she asks, though she doesn't ask all that often. And... I'm learning where things are around here, so I usually clean. She does the laundry, but I do the dishes."

"Yeah?" Vinnie asked. "Sounds... rather domesticated."

The tan mouse shrugged. "That's what happens when you're put out to pasture."

There was another heavy silence as Vinnie looked at his friend, and tried to judge how that life... could be a good thing. Granted, there seemed to be a sense of security there, but, there didn't seem to be much living going on.

"Vinnie?"

"Yeah?"

"What...? Modo said..."

"Yeah." The scarred male closed his eyes and leaned against the door. Partly to ease the trembling in his knees, but also to make sure that no one was going to enter without warning. "I... I forced a Bond on him. I didn't even know what I was doing, but... I was having a nightmare, and then I felt this presence, ya know, like... warm, and I grabbed it."

"And you didn't let go."

"No. I... The nightmares..." Vincent choked off, looking at a spot on the wall as he tried to get his emotions and his voice under control. "They're bad. Worse than after we got out of the prison."

"Do you realize... do you know what a Bond is?"

"Sorta like a psychic marriage, isn't it?"

"Vincent..." Throttle sighed, shaking his head. He took off his glasses, with his eyes closed, and rubbed the bridge of his muzzled nose. "It's a bit more... complicated."

"I know that I wasn't supposed to force it, it's like rape, and it's... a violation. And I know that it's supposed to happen between two people who are really tight, like a husband and a wife. But..."

"It's a way to ensure fidelity," Throttle answered softly.

"What...?"

"Jeeze, just what do you remember of our history? We weren't always civilized people, Vincent. Call it the theory of evolution, or whatever you'd like, but it was the couples that Bonded that had the strongest families, the strongest commitment to one another. What ensured a lasting commitment wasn't so much the status, but the Bond itself. There was no option of adultery, no option of betrayal. No mouse could betray their lover because to do so would make them physically ill. Most didn't, and don't, survive the death of their Bond-mate." Throttle looked towards where he knew Vinnie was standing. "It's not just a psychic link, it's physical."

"But... but, dude, me and Modo aren't..."

"Not yet. But you will be," Throttle shrugged. "Last Bonded pair that I remember meeting, they wouldn't go out on missions unless it was together. Said that they couldn't stand to be apart. That the only time they felt comfortable in their own fur was when the other was nearby. One time, a commander forced them to not go as a team, and it nearly cost him several people. They were skittish, agitated, and seemed to be uncomfortable in their own skin. Ask Modo. A Bond-mate feels best when they're touching each other, bringing the other comfort and pleasure."

This... this was a bit more than he bargained for. A lot more than he bargained for. And Modo... What was _he_ thinking? Vinnie opened his mouth, trying to speak, but only a soft squeak came out.

"You do realize that if you had done this back on Mars, with just about anyone else, they'd have killed you right then and there, and they wouldn't have cared if they'd have died when you did, right?"

"...Yeah. I guess I do," Vinnie whispered, his throat thick. "Does this mean...?"

"What it means for you and Modo is up to you and Modo. But I will say this... don't fight it. Whatever happens, don't fight it." Throttle tilted his head to the side, blindly regarding his guest. "And as much as it's gonna hurt, and as much as it's gonna be awkward for both of you... I'm actually kinda jealous."

"Jealous?" Of all things for Throttle to feel, Vinnie knew-knew- that jealousy would have been the last one he would have felt had their roles been reversed.

"I had thought that maybe you'd hate me for stealing Charley-girl away, even though... well, never mind." The tan mouse shrugged and jerked his hand in front of him, as if erasing something only he could see. He continued on in a very subdued voice. "But you... you and Modo are going to have something that I... I'll never be able to have with her. I'll never be able to even get the smallest taste of it with her."

It went without saying that of the three of them, Throttle had the most talent when it came to psychic abilities. And he knew what Vinnie didn't quite understand yet. Throttle might be getting Charley, but it was going to be a mostly physical relationship. There wouldn't be the kind of sharing that Vinnie and Modo were going to be enjoying.

Of course, that was only if they enjoyed it, if they didn't fight it.

**-00-**

Weeks later, the weather had calmed down a bit, as had Limburger. There seemed to be a bit of internal politics going on, and it took most of the ol' fish-face's concentration to deal with that. Which was good. It meant the city would remain standing for a while longer.

And it meant that the boys had time off.

That being the case, Modo and Vinnie spent a lot of time together, just the two of them. Vinnie wanted to make up for the goof he had made, and Modo... Modo needed to do things, and needed to do them with Vinnie. It had taken time for Vinnie to get over his guilt, and it would take more time yet, but they were working on things. They just had to take things one day at a time.

One had started off lazy, and just got lazier as the day wore on. They had started out playing a game of basketball, and then watched some television. They'd eaten while watching yet another Bond movie.

Somehow, they had ended up lying on the sofa, both in nothing but their jeans. Vinnie's head rested on Modo's chest. Modo had his mechanical arm behind his head, so that his real hand could lazily stroke down Vinnie's spine. The gray-furred mouse had his tail draped over the back of Vinnie's knees as well.

Vinnie had come to discover that at least one of Throttle's predictions was accurate. He did feel best when he and Modo were touching. Whether it was a slap on the back, or one of them grabbed the other's tail, or simply an arm slung around the other's shoulder, each touch... it felt good. Vinnie sometimes wondered when, not if but when, their small touches would turn into something a bit... different.

Their first kiss had been... different. Nothing like he'd ever experienced before. Modo shocked Vinnie with an absentminded kiss, a kiss on the top of his head, before they went to sleep one night, as there was no chance of not going to sleep together. The first time Vinnie had tried, he'd ended up crawling into bed with the larger mouse in the hours between night and dawn. He'd been grateful when he'd felt an arm pull him close and felt foolish for trying to sleep separate. There were more light kisses after that, and soon, Vinnie found himself returning the gesture, rubbing his lips against Modo's or nipping the gray mouse on the neck.

But their first -real- kiss... Nothing in Vinnie's past could have prepared him for that. He wasn't even sure what had spurred the moment on, but Modo's hands had been on his hips, pulling him tightly against the taller mouse. And then his mouth...

Modo did not taste like root beer.

Modo had his own, very unique taste. And it tasted good. Modo's mouth was warm, too, and his tongue was very...

Yeah.

Vinnie had been staggered, left blinking and gasping as Modo had spun around and left, going to his bike for a ride.

There had been a few more kisses after that, and while none was quite as... intimidating as the first, they still left him a bit breathless. However, there were still the simple touches that went to create a relaxed atmosphere between them.

In fact, when it was just him and Modo, Vinnie went without his mask. He had felt uncomfortable at first, but gradually, when Modo didn't remark on it or do anything, he began to slowly grow a bit more comfortable with it. He still felt naked without the piece of metal, but he was growing more comfortable with that nudity.

Vinnie shifted where he was, totally and utterly contented. He rubbed his-furred cheek against the soft gray fuzz of Modo's chest, nuzzling the larger male. The white-furred mouse knew that eventually, one of them would have to broach the subject of sex. While the thought of that conversation was frightening as hell, there was part of him that realized it was also...

Exciting.

It gave him a rush, thinking about talking about it, thinking about actually... And while he was scared of going forward with the act itself, he knew one thing for certain. He didn't want to dominate. He didn't. It was his fault that they were in the predicament that they were in, true. And while he felt that it was the least he could do since he had forced the bond on Modo to begin with, the real reason he wanted to submit was because he knew enough about himself to know that he trusted Modo to handle things the right way than he trusted himself.

He wondered, and not for the first time, if maybe he had been wrong. Maybe love wasn't supposed to be like a machine shop: fire and sparks and metal and loud noises and work. Sure, there was work involved, but maybe it could involve something a bit... quieter.

More like... More like a home. Home, where there was laughter and singing and shared jokes. Home, where there were things to do and food to cook and dishes to clean. Home, where there were shared nights on the sofa, just watching television.

Home, where no one had to hide.

Where there wasn't anything to hide.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Modo asked, his voice more of a rumble than actual sound.

"Us," Vinnie replied without thinking, and then felt his face heat with embarrassment.

"Yeah?" Modo asked, turning to look down his chest at the top of Vinnie's head.

Vinnie swallowed, shivering at the feel of Modo's warm breath coasting over one of his antennae. "Yeah."

"Anything you'd like to share?"

'_Would you stop doing that?_' Vinnie mentally groaned. If Modo heard him, he didn't acknowledge it, and waited patiently for Vinnie to answer him. "Well, 's just thinking about... ya know. Stuff."

"Ah."

"Like... some of what Throttle told me about Bonds and stuff."

"Mmmhmm." The hand stroking Vinnie's back stilled as the larger mouse waited for the other to continue.

"And I was just... thinking," Vinnie trailed off, his eyes closing as he tried to think of a way to tactfully approach the subject. And then he gave up, because everyone knew that the best way to attack something was head on. "Are we going to have sex? I mean, is that part of it?"

Modo was silent for a moment, his one eye blinking a few times, as he tried to figure out a proper answer. Finally, he went with the truth. "Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Still lying on Modo's chest, Vinnie shrugged. "Well... I've never... actually... I mean, we can work out some of the, um... Ya know, never mind."

"No, no. Go ahead and say what you were going to say," Modo encouraged him, amused and concerned.

"I've never had sex with a guy," Vinnie replied, looking up at him. "And I don't know how it'd work."

"Well..." Modo began, trying to figure out the best way to approach the issue.

"I mean, I know the mechanics of it, but," Vinnie murmured. "It's... I..."

"Vincent?"

Vinnie turned his head away to look at the television, though he wasn't actually watching it. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gather his courage. "I'll bottom."

And there it was. Right there in the open, as bare as the missing half of his face. He was willing to submit. He was willing to be taken. When, not if, they had sex, Vinnie was willing to-

"Okay," Modo nodded, his hand returning to its slow, leisurely caresses.

"Okay?"

"Mmhmm. Okay." Modo didn't have to tell the younger male that he had had no intention of being the receiver. He was more than willing to go about as they had been, just barely scratching the surface of what a Bond truly meant. But, if Vinnie was willing to go all the way through with it, he was willing to oblige him. More than willing.

Vinnie raised his head so that he could frown at the other male. And he was doing a very lovely job of frowning, too, until Modo grinned and leaned forward and kissed him. Slowly. Vinnie closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss. Just going with it.

Not fighting it. Not fighting anything.

And not hiding. Not hiding from anything.

Just... going with it.

Just... surrendering.

**-00-**

The day was bright, though there were a few far off clouds. Throttle lay on the grass, relaxing in the sun. Modo was behind the grill, humming along with the radio that blared more noise than actual music. Charley and Vinnie were engaged in a one on one volleyball match.

The first time Charley had seen Vinnie without his mask, she had been shocked. He didn't give her the chance to pity him, though. He didn't want her pity. He wanted her friendship, just like before. And just like before, she gave it to him.

The white-furred mouse grinned as he spiked the ball, causing Charley to dive for it.

It was hard to imagine that not so long ago, he had been utterly dependent upon his mask. Always trying to hide. Always trying to pretend to be someone he wasn't.

He was more relaxed, more self-assured, more aware of himself than he had ever been before. He felt good, being who he was. He knew he didn't brag half as much, and while he was still wild, Modo was more than able to reel him back in.

That was part of it, though. That Modo was there, with him, balancing him out.

"Dinner's ready!" Modo called out, catching everyone's attention.

Charley laughed as she got to her feet. "Guess you won that game, Vinnie. But I demand a rematch!"

"Hah! Babe, you -know- I'm the Baddest Mamba Jamba in the -Entire- Universe. What chance do you have of beating me?" The white-furred mouse grinned.

The four of them sat down together, after fixing their plates, and ate. Charley spoke softly to Throttle, telling him where things were on his plate, after she handed him his root beer. Vinnie sat next to Modo, hooking the end of his tail with the tip of Modo's.

And afterwards, they sat there, talking. They spoke of battles, and of what they suspected the Plutarkians to be up to. The war was still going on, after all. Limburger was still in power, though his control was slipping every day. There were other Plutarkian menaces to deal with, but they weren't as close at hand as their familiar adversary. But, if there ever came a day when the war was ever over, if they ever won, they knew that they would be content.

Throttle had already stated that he wasn't going to be going back to Mars. There was nothing there for him, nothing to see or do.

Modo missed his family, but he wasn't sure leaving Earth was such a good idea. He'd be willing to return to Mars for visits, but Earth was now his home.

As for Vinnie, Mars didn't have anything he wanted. Everything he needed was on Earth.


End file.
